


The One and Only Great and Terrible

by Inu_Sama



Series: HP FICS [5]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Child Abuse, Dark Harry, Dark Magic, F/F, F/M, Humour, M/M, Magic Sensitivity, Meddling Dumbledore, Morally Grey Harry Potter, No Umbridge, Obsession, Sane Voldemort, Slash, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Smart Harry, Teacher Voldemort, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 18:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: Voldemort’s favourite pastime, Harry had discovered over the past week or so, was pushing Harry until he got a reaction.It amused the man to no end when Harry was so polite to him, treating him as any other teacher. They both knew he wasn’t and the irony tickled him.Bastard.





	The One and Only Great and Terrible

Harry cast a quick tempus and cursed, gathering up his things. He’d lost track of time, _again_ . It was well past curfew when Harry left the library, Mrs. Pince having left hours ago. She had thankfully left the doors open just a crack for him, the wards didn’t activate until he shut them.

Over the course of last year and everything that happened with the Triwizard Tournament, the school librarian and Harry had reached some form of accord.

He could stay as long as he wanted if he respected the books and the knowledge they held. It was a pretty good deal, considering how much he came to value the power of knowledge. He was no longer that ignorant boy from first year, following in the footsteps of his first and only friend at the time because he was scared of being different.

At the Dursleys he was a freak, and when he got to Hogwarts he’d quickly realised that he was a freak even among freaks. He’d always seemed to get things _so much faster_ than his classmates, and his magical core was just _so much bigger_.

But blindly following Ron’s example had only hindered him and made him an easier target. Hermione hadn’t been much better. He realised that when Ron had turned on him in fourth year and he was alone for the first time, able to feel the brunt of the bullying now that he didn’t have someone to defend him - someone to _shield_ him from it, or distract him.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts when he felt a familiar magical signature approaching him. He stilled, taking deep breaths to calm the panic that wanted to take him over. Voldemort rounded the corner at a leisurely pace, wearing the face of an older Tom Riddle.

Harry swallowed when he felt that intoxicating darkness reach out to caress him. Voldemort didn’t seem to do this deliberately, but it happened almost every time they were in the same room. His magic would never fail to seek out Harry’s and his own would shiver in response and rise out of his core unbidden to connect with it. It was both a wonderful and terrible phenomenon that only Harry could witness due to his sensitivity to magic, especially _dark_ magic.

It was somewhat unfortunate for Harry that the man in front of him was as dark as they came. Only his incredible self-restraint kept him from jumping his parent’s killer, wanting to crawl inside that magic and never leave.

Voldemort smirked when he spotted the boy he had been looking for and strode forward more purposefully.

“Out of bed are we, Potter? Tsk Tsk, what a _naughty_ little Gryffindor.” Voldemort stepped into Harry’s personal space with confidence and a smirk on his handsome face. Harry bit his lip and refused to meet the man’s eyes.

“Good evening sir, I was just in the library and lost track of time.” He said politely, knowing that if he showed any sort of disobedience the man could give him a detention and Harry so _did not_ want to spend more time with his arch-nemesis than he had to.

His control was already slipping because of how _close_ Voldemort was. He couldn’t step away though, because that would show Voldemort that he was getting to him and he would just do it more, would go further.

Voldemort’s favourite pastime, Harry had discovered over the past week or so, was pushing Harry until he got a reaction. It amused the man to no end when Harry was so polite to him, treating him as any other teacher. They both knew he wasn’t and the irony tickled him.

Harry wished that Dumbledore would do something about it as he obviously knew that Voldemort was in the castle, posing as the Defense teacher. He hadn’t even used an alias for crying out loud! But Harry had long since given up counting on the headmaster to help him, that last bit of trust had been shredded when a Mr. Tom Riddle was introduced as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the start of the year.

Voldemort smirked and stepped away, leaving Harry feeling winded. He tried not to show it though, as Voldemort sighed.

“Well, I can’t punish you for wanting to learn.” He looked mournful at the lost opportunity to spend some more time teasing the little Light Hero, but he didn’t want to discourage a student from pursuing knowledge - that just went against everything he was.

~ _Go on, off to bed little Lion._ ~ He cooed, watching in interest as the boy subconsciously muttered a response in parseltongue before edging around the man, keeping out of arm's reach at all times. He chuckled, sending a shiver up the teen’s spine as Harry disappeared around the corner.

The common room was empty when Harry stepped through the portrait hole and he was thankful for small mercies. He leaned against the wall next to the entrance to catch his breath, the adrenaline leaving him just as his magic slid reluctantly back into his core.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew Voldemort had been looking for him, knowing he’d been out of the safety of Gryffindor Tower and all alone. Harry cursed Wormtail once again for telling the man about the Map.

Now there was nowhere in the castle he could hide. He couldn’t even go down to the Chamber! He had spells he wanted to practice that were a bit… different than what people would expect him to be learning but he couldn’t risk drawing Voldemort’s attention if he went to a certain abandoned bathroom. Harry sighed in agitation before trudging up to the dorms. He could at least catch a few hours of sleep before tomorrow’s classes.

The next morning Harry studiously ignored the piercing gaze fixed on him from the teacher’s table, flipping through his journal to where he’d left off last night. He wanted to finish writing out the formula for the spell he was creating, earning an odd look from Hermione when she squinted over his shoulder.

“Harry, what language is that? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.” She asked curiously, ignorant to the way Harry tensed and leaned away from her as he drew his notebook closer to him.

“Yeah, it was just something I made up over the summer. Don’t worry about it.” He dismissed with a nonchalant wave of his hand before going back to his writing. It wasn't, but he wasn't about to tell her he was writing in Parselscript. That would just raise suspicion, especially if Dumbledore heard about it.

It was incredibly easy for him to split his attention and so as he kept writing, he watched Hermione’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. She mouthed ‘ _made up over the summer_ ’ to herself with a frown. It deepened when Harry flipped a page, switching to his left hand so that he could pick up his spoon and eat some of his cereal.

She knew he was ambidextrous, but it still seemed to send her for a loop when he did it so casually.

“Mione, you’re staring.” He murmured, frowning as he scribbled out a few numbers before writing in the correct ones. She startled, blushed and then resolutely turned back to her own breakfast.

“Sorry, it’s just weird-” It was then Ron moseyed on into the Great Hall and sat down across from them.

“What’s weird?” he asked sleepily, shoving a bit of toast in his mouth. Harry managed to get his sneer of disgust down to a slight grimace as he watched Ron shovel food into his mouth, only stopping to reach for a goblet of pumpkin juice. Naturally, in his sleep-addled state, Ron didn’t see the goblet in front of Harry and bumped it with his hand in his quest for the jug next to it.

Harry hissed irritably and flicked his fingers, his magic leaping out of his core to stabilize the goblet.

“Watch what your doing, Ron!” He chastised, closing his book and stuffing it into his backpack. He couldn’t risk it getting damaged because of Ron’s carelessness. Hermione glanced at him but didn’t comment on the sharp tone his voice had taken.

“Harry’s right, Ronald. You should be more careful! What if you had gotten juice all over my book!” She held up the advanced Charms book she’d been reading when she’d sat down next to Harry at the Gryffindor table to find he was already occupied. Ron’s face went red and he grumbled, feeling like he was being ganged up on.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, thankfully moving more carefully as he filled his own goblet with juice. Harry sighed and pulled out his wand to cast a tempus. He didn’t need it to do such a simple spell, but it would look weird if he didn’t.

“Look, I’ll meet you guys in Charms. I forgot something.” He lied, already standing.

He left the Great Hall and quickly made his way to the classroom, sliding down the wall opposite to sit on the floor with his legs crossed. He pulled out his journal and continued writing down his thoughts on what the outcome should be.

Harry had already done the math, which was the hardest part of creating a spell - especially one this complex. It was supposed to ‘fix’ his body, reversing most of the damage done to it from the Dursleys ‘care’.

It was also going to be coupled with a month of nutrient potions to help the process along. Otherwise how could it fix the damage if it didn’t have the proper chemicals to draw from? Harry was startled out of his frenzy when he felt multiple signatures headed his way. He looked up just as his classmates entered the corridor, Malfoy sending him a dirty look when he saw Harry sitting on the floor like a _commoner_.

Harry had mended things with the blond prat the first day back, but it seemed it wouldn’t be that easy for Malfoy to just stop something that had been habit for  _years_. He stood up and put away his book just before Hermione and Ron rounded the corner too.

“Mate, how the hell did you beat us here? I thought you had to go up to the Tower?” Ron asked, genuine confusion scrunching his face. Harry schooled his expression into something more calm and resisted the urge to snap at his once best friend. Just because he had ‘forgiven’ his friends for last year, didn’t mean he just forgot what they did and so it was becoming harder and harder to tolerate them.

Though Hermione he could somewhat get along with, she was incredibly nosy and it rubbed him the wrong way. But at least she was getting better as it seemed that she really did value their friendship and was trying to change. Ron, on the other hand, stayed the same obtuse, insensitive bigot he’d been in first year and Harry was starting to lose his patience. Just him breathing a little too loudly was liable to set Harry off.

“I dunno, Ron. I used shortcuts I guess.” He explained, thankful when the doors opened and Professor Flitwick ushered them inside. He ignored Hermione’s curious gaze, no doubt wondering what shortcuts he was talking about. Harry sat at the back of the class next to Neville, pulling out his charms book and another notebook.

“Hey, Harry.” Neville greeted, following his example and pulling out his own stuff for class.

“Hey Nev.” Harry returned warmly, making the boy flush a deep crimson. Harry had always liked Neville, he was so sweet and innocent and somehow managed to never grate on his nerves. He just wished the boy was a little more confident in himself, Neville was an amazing person but not many people got to see that. They only saw the stuttering shitty-at-magic mess.

Neville had a massive core compared to the rest of their year - obviously it was leagues below Harry’s, he was on par with _Voldemort_ after all. - But it was still an impressive size and it felt like a cool summer breeze.

The only problem was that the boy was too afraid of messing up that he had no control over it and it ended up lashing out. Harry thought that part of the problem was that he was using his father’s wand, but he couldn’t get the boy to buy a new one. He was too afraid of what his grandmother would do to him.

That irritated him, that she would insist on stunting his magic like that. It wasn’t right. Harry was brought out of his brooding by his professor waddling up to the front of the classroom.

“Okay class! Today we’re going to be practising the bubble head charm.” The half-goblin announced, lighting some incense. The smell of oranges filled the room and Harry pulled out his wand.

“The bubble head charm provides a scentless but limited supply of oxygen to the caster, if you can’t smell the incense anymore, it means you’ve been successful in casting it.” Professor Flitwick then demonstrated the wand movements and the incantation a few times before hopping off the podium to walk around the room.

As Harry had read ahead last year in an effort to bridge the gap between him and the other champions, he already knew this charm. But he cast it regardless, surprising Neville when a large bubble appeared around Harry’s head.

“Wow Harry! You did it on the first try!” This drew the attention of most of the class and Harry tried not to sneer. It was highly insulting that they looked so surprised he could do such a simple spell.

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Harry started when Professor Flitwick came up beside him, a proud, toothy smile on his face. Harry dipped his head in thanks to his professor and cancelled the charm.

“Very well done, Mr. Potter. You have grown so much, I’m very proud of the young man you’ve become.” His professor beamed, laying a chocolate frog down on his desk. Harry smiled and picked up the frog to put in his pocket for later.

“Thank you, Professor.” Flitwick was a genuinely good teacher, one that had always rewarded him for the smart boy he was and not because of his fame. Harry really appreciated that as not many of the others treated him so fairly, especially Snape.

With a shout to ‘get on with it!’ from their teacher, the rest of the class turned back to the front. Harry instantly felt more at ease now that no more eyes were on him, he may have had to deal with it his whole Hogwarts career, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Harry sighed and turned to help Neville, who was grateful for it as he was too shy to ask.

 

After class, Harry entered the Great Hall for lunch with the rest of his year. Because it was an O.W.Ls year, every class was a double period, which meant that he had to suffer through Snape’s dickbagery for twice as long. He was not looking forward to it. Voldemort was staring at him again, watching his every move like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. Harry suspected he mostly did it just to fuck with him, only a small part being genuinely curious about the Boy-Who-Lived.

But Harry didn’t know how Voldemort’s mind worked no more than he knew how Dumbledore’s did. Harry twisted in his seat so he could lean back against the table and sighed wearily. He felt ten times older than he should and it made him feel incredibly tired. Logically, it was probably from his lack of sleep, but Harry couldn’t help but attribute some of it to Voldemort’s constant hazing along with Snape’s bullying. To put it bluntly, he was fed up.

“...rry….Harry!” Harry startled, not noticing he’d actually closed his eyes and looked into concerned brown ones. “Hey, ‘Mione. Everything alright?” She huffed and shoved a plate full of finger sandwiches at him.

“Eat, it’ll make you feel better.” She said before turning back to her own meal. Harry sat up and turned around, picking up a cucumber and ham sandwich to nibble on. He summoned a pepper-up potion from the shrunken pouch he kept on a cord around his neck and poured it into his goblet. The water swirled and turned purple and Harry took a sip, sighing in relief when he could feel the effects taking over. Once he was finished eating he stood and stretched, groaning as his back popped pleasantly.

He was feeling infinitely better when he followed Hermione to Potions. Ron had a free period now as he hadn’t qualified for this year’s class, which wasn’t surprising considering Snape would accept nothing less than an Exceeds Expectations. But he wasn’t the only one not to get in and Harry half thought that most of the Gryffindors deliberately failed their Potion’s exams just so they didn’t have to deal with the dungeon bat ever again.

Harry kind of wished he could sacrifice his pride and do something like that too, but he couldn’t bear getting poor grades again. It would literally kill him, he was sure. In this class too, Harry sat at the back - though this was less out of boredom and more a hope that Snape would just ignore him. Plus he was closest to the cupboard and so he could get all the freshest ingredients first. He was sitting next to Hermione this time, not wanting to deal with the inevitable explosion Neville would accidentally make.

Just to be sure he wasn’t caught in the crossfire, Harry discreetly flicked his fingers, putting up a shield on the front of the table as they were behind Neville. No one dared speak in this room, not sure when the Bat would descend, wielding point deductions and detentions like weapons. It was a few minutes before the man skulked out of the darkness, robes whipping dramatically behind him. Harry rolled his eyes, earning a pointy elbow in his side from Hermione in warning.

Harry pulled out his supplies while Snape took his time surveying the class. He had a different notebook for each subject - and extra ones for his other studies. It was all very organised, something he thought Hermione might be proud of if he showed her. “Potter!” Harry groaned internally and looked up. Snape was glaring at him from the chalkboard, wand in hand.

“What are the steps for brewing  _Draught of the Living Dead_?” He snapped, making the rest of the class flinch. Harry resisted the urge to growl. They both knew that was a sixth year potion, something that they wouldn’t even cover until the  _end_ of that year. Nonetheless, Harry knew it and he wasn’t going to let Snape belittle him.

“First you need to cut the Sopophorous beans with a silver knife, and then…” It took a while but the look on Snape’s face was worth the ten wasted minutes and Harry held back a smirk.

“Though, Sir, that potion isn’t taught until sixth year because of how difficult and deadly it can be.” He finished, the classroom thick with stunned silence.

“What the bloody hell was  _that_ , mate!” Seamus exclaimed, the first one to recover. The others nodded, equally flabbergasted by Harry’s ‘sudden’ display of competency. Harry rolled his eyes at them in exasperation. Did they not know how stupid they looked when they did things like that? Snape immediately zeroed in on the brunette, looking like he was about to spit fire.

“ _Language_! Twenty points from Gryffindor!” Then he turned to Harry and narrowed his eyes with a sneer.

“Ten points to Gryffindor for an excellent answer.” he growled lowly. It looked like it had physically pained him to say that and Harry stared at him in genuine surprise. Snape spun on his heel and flicked his wand to write instructions for the Draught of Peace instead.

“We don’t have time today to brew after that  _explanation_ from Potter, but I expect you to,  _at the very least_ , read up on this potion for the next hour as you will be brewing it on thursday.” Snape told them, his wand sliding back into its holster on the man’s right forearm. The quiet classroom was then filled with the scratching of quills as everyone but Harry wrote down what was on the board.

He instead flipped through his Potions notebook and began scribbling down ways to improve the method of preparation for the Draught of Peace. Strangely, Snape didn’t call him out on it - though he definitely noticed as he’d looked down at what Harry was doing when he stalked past.

“Tch.” Harry grunted, crossing out one of the steps as he’d thought of a better one when he was writing the others. Soon the bell rang and Harry gathered up his things.

“Potter, stay behind.” Harry muffled an irritated whine and told Hermione to go on ahead, he would see her in Defence. And wasn’t that an unpleasant thought? He had Potions  _and_ Defence on the same day. Lucky him. As no one really liked the Potions Master all that much(which meant not at all), the classroom was quickly emptied.

Harry turned to his professor, who motioned for him to come up to his desk. Harry did, feeling like every step was one closer to his grave. He’d embarrassed Snape in front of the Gryffindors, that probably wasn’t going to be consequence free.

“Potter, where did you learn of that Draught? As you so  _astutely_ pointed out it was a  _sixth_ year potion.” Snape demanded, sitting down behind his desk to grade essays. Or, at least that’s what Harry thought he would be doing as they were on his desk. Right now, Harry was being given his full attention. He tried not to fidget.

“I read ahead for the tournament, Sir.” He said - which wasn’t a total lie. He did read ahead to survive that death contest, but it wasn’t his only reason, nor did it fully extend to everything he had studied. But Snape didn’t need to know about his extracurricular activities, he might just go straight to Dumbledore.

Harry had no doubt the old coot would throw a fit if he knew his precious martyr was learning to defend himself - to kill, even. Snape didn’t seem to know that Voldemort was posing as a teacher, otherwise he would have looked a lot more stressed out, right? But he never so much as twitched when they sat next to each other at the head table during meals. Snape wasn’t  _that_ good. The man looked like he wanted to say more, eyes flicking to Harry bag where his notebooks lay, but he didn’t.

“Dismissed.” He simply said instead, looking away from Harry to the essays in front of him.

Harry cursed when he got outside the classroom to find the corridor completely empty.

~ _Shit_ ~ he hissed, running out of the dungeons and up the stairs to the Defence classroom. Once he reached the door Harry stopped and took a moment to slow his breathing before knocking.

“Come in.” A smooth voice intoned, one that Harry was becoming very familiar with. Harry didn’t hesitate and opened the door. He spotted Hermione standing near one of the windows, waving at him. He nodded respectfully to Voldemort before joining her.

“Detention, Potter. For being late.” Professor Riddle drawled, unrolling a scroll to take attendance. Harry groaned quietly and eyed the window. It was a twenty meter drop from here, would that be enough to kill him? As if sensing his thoughts, Voldemort’s magic took on an amused air as it swam around Harry like it always did.

Hermione shivered and pulled the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands. Curious, Harry thought, that to Light cores Dark magic felt cold. To him Voldemort’s magic felt incredibly warm, was that because he had a Dark core too? He knew she couldn’t sense Voldemort’s magic specifically, but that didn’t stop it from affecting her it seemed.

As Voldemort began calling out names, Harry surreptitiously got out one of his notebooks to jot the discovery down in case he forgot to do it later. He had only just finished and closed his book when he registered the silence in the room.

“Mr. Potter, are you listening?” Voldemort sounded  _way_ closer than Harry thought he was and jumped, his book slipping from his suddenly numb fingers. With reflexes every seeker would have envied, Voldemort caught the book and turned it over to see the faux leather front that had the words ‘Defence’ scratched into it. Perfectly sculpted eyebrows lifted in surprise when he opened the book to see pages and pages of Harry’s handwriting.

Harry felt a bead of nervous sweat roll down his spine as Voldemort turned another page to continue reading, seemingly engrossed in Harry’s work.

“Um, Professor?” Bless whoever had interrupted, as Voldemort’s head snapped up and he smiled sheepishly at the student. He turned back to Harry with a smirk and waved the book in front of him.

“I’ll be confiscating this. You can get it back tonight.” He said, promptly sliding the book into one of his robe pockets - which must have been magically expanded on the inside as there was no way it would have fit normally.

Voldemort clapped his hands once and moved to the front of the class. “I have moved the desks because we are going to be practising dueling.” There was a cheer from his yearmates before Voldemort continued.

“Now, obviously there are some rules. One,” He held up a slender finger. “No killing or otherwise permanent maiming.” Neville looked visibly ill and Harry squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. Harry himself had no problem with it, after living with the Dursleys it would have been impossible to  _not_ develop a strong stomach. Despite their similar upbringings, it seemed that instead of becoming strong and independent, Neville went the opposite way.

“Second! Don’t cast anything that will get me in trouble with the Headmaster, okay?” Voldemort winked and the girls in his class blushed and tittered like birds. It sounded like he was joking but Harry highly doubted that. The man was serious about not casting anything too nasty as he evidently didn’t want to deal with Dumbledore’s bullshit.

Harry’s lips twisted into a disturbed frown. Those girls certainly wouldn’t have the same reaction if they knew exactly who Tom Riddle was.

“In all seriousness, I actually just want you guys to focus on disarming your opponent. Go!” They all broke off into even pairs, Harry and Hermione paired up while Ron got stuck with Neville. He sent a venomous glare towards Harry, who simply ignored him with an ease that came with many years of practice. Hermione and Harry stood closer to the windows at the back of the room, well away from the others.

“Okay, do you know the starting positions?” Harry asked, watching Malfoy work through them fluidly with Blaise before they started their duel. Hermione frowned and shook her head, hair bouncing wildly. Harry held in a sigh and smiled instead.

“Okay, then just follow my lead. I’ll show you what to do.” Harry discarded his bag against the wall with the others and flicked his wrist, his wand shooting out from its holster on his arm. “Okay, face me and bow.” He instructed, keeping his wand to the side and pointed down.

Hermione copied him, both of them bowing shallowly at the waist. Harry straightened and lifted his wand in front of his face, almost touching his nose. Then he brought his dominant foot forward and flicked his wand down to his side again, Hermione doing the same a second later.

“Okay, now just relax into a battle stance. Just do what feels most comfortable.” He suggested, twisting to the side so that only his right was visible to Hermione as he bent his knees and brought his wand up. He tucked his left arm behind his back to help him balance and watched in quiet exasperation as Hermione tried to copy him. She wobbled and eventually couldn’t keep her balance and fell. Harry laughed and went over to help her up.

“Didn’t I say to do what feels most comfortable to  _you_? You can’t just copy someone else, it doesn’t really work like that - though there are different types of stances, it’s mostly up to the individual.” He chastised with a grin on his face to soften the blow, returning to his previous spot.

Cheeks flaming, Hermione nodded and did the same. This time she hunched her shoulders and bent her knees with both her arms out like she was bracing herself to get pushed. Harry nodded, satisfied with that.

“Begin!” he commanded, waiting for her to cast first as she was the novice. To his surprise she sent a bombarda as her first cast, something that made Harry throw up one of the more complex shields he knew. A simple protego wouldn’t do as he didn’t want it to bounce off and hit someone in the back. Hermione’s eyes widened in shock as her spell was eaten by Harry’s shield, red energy crackling through it like lightning. She’d never seen a shield like  _that_ before, her textbooks had never even mentioned it!

“Don’t get distracted.” Harry reminded, dispelling his shield. It would be too cumbersome to try to cast with it blocking his way as in his haste he’d made it too big. If he had more practice he could have made it the size of a muggle shield and stuck it to his arm - that was how it was supposed to be used.

Once he could see she was ready again, Harry threw a variation of the  _Avis_ charm. Hermione was caught off guard when a swarm of white moths blocked her vision, pulling at her hair with their legs sticking into her nose. She squealed and tried to bat them off. Harry took that opportunity to disarm her.

“Expelliarmus.” He intoned, deftly catching her wand in his left hand. Deeming the match over he cancelled the spell and the moths disappeared. Hermione rubbed a frantic hand over her face and hair, glaring at Harry’s amused grin.

“That was so not fair! You know I hate moths!” She whined indignantly as Harry held out her wand handle first. She grumbled good-naturedly and took it back.

“Very good, Mr. Potter. Twenty points to Gryffindor for accurate execution and helping a fellow student.” Voldemort praised from behind Hermione, making Harry’s stomach do flips when their eyes met. Harry dipped his head in a shallow nod.

“Thank you, Sir.” He said, looking around the room to see that everyone was watching him. Again. It was getting old now, how they just expected him to be unable to do the simplest things. In a moment of irritation he bared his teeth at them in a sneer before he could stop himself, startling his classmates. The fact that Harry was even  _capable_ of such an expression seemed to shock them, which only pissed him off more. Malfoy was the only one that looked like he was about to explode at the sheer  _audacity_ of Harry looking at him like that.

~ _Oh for fuck sake_ ~ He hissed, low enough that only Hermione and Voldemort could hear - the latter of the two seeming incredibly amused while the other just looked confused. Harry rolled his eyes and folded his arms, staring at Voldemort in a ‘well? Get on with it’ kind of way.

He was thankful that the man understood and actually did what Harry wanted him to instead of just letting him stew in the awkward silence.

“Okay people! I was very pleased with how everything turned out, though some of you need a little more practice I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it by the end of the year.” Voldemort said, distracting the class enough that Harry could fade into the background next to Neville as the rest of them gathered together again with Voldemort at the front.

“We won’t be doing this every lesson, but I would still like you to read chapter three through five of your books on dueling. It will be very important for you to know what to do the next time we duel. Dismissed!” He shouted and not a second later the bell rang, indicating the end of class.

Harry sighed in relief and trotted over to his backpack, Hermione trailing after him. He had a double free after this and he planned to spend it in the library. Harry snorted when the others gave him a wide berth, waiting until he’d moved away before grabbing their own packs.

He didn’t think they were serious - they had to be fucking with him right? Surely he wasn’t that scary.

“Mr. Potter! I expect to see you straight after dinner!” Voldemort called out, distracting him enough that Malfoy was able to shove Harry into the door jam on his way past. Though he didn’t miss the spike of anger in Voldemort’s magic, he was confused by it. Why would he care if Malfoy treated him like shit? Harry winced and rubbed his collarbone as he turned back to Voldemort.

“Yes, Sir.” He said obediently before leaving with a concerned Hermione fussing over him.

 

Voldemort was reading his journal when Harry arrived for detention later that night. The sight made his skin crawl and he itched to snatch it out of the man’s hands.

But that wouldn’t be a good idea - he didn’t want to get cursed. Just because it hadn’t happened yet, didn’t mean it wouldn’t. Instead he just sat down on the chair in front of him. Though a desk separated them, Harry still felt like he was way too close for comfort.

“This is very interesting stuff,  _Harry_.” Voldemort purred, his magic leaking out of his core to wrap around Harry in an embrace. He fought off a shiver at the sudden warmth, trying to look unaffected. He must not have entirely succeeded as Voldemort licked his lips and his magic took on an inquisitive tang.

“So you’re a Sensate? I must admit I hadn’t expected that.” He said, using the proper term for someone that was magically sensitive. Harry instantly regretted writing that down in his Defence journal.

“Yes, I doubt anyone else knows though.” Harry replied, referring to Dumbledore. Voldemort’s magic sparked and Harry flinched slightly, causing the man focus in on him again.

“Very interesting.”

Harry just stared at the open book under Voldemort’s pale fingers mutinously, the black leather a stark contrast. He couldn’t let him know he had more of them, no doubt he would demand to see them and Harry couldn’t bear having all his secrets accessible to his arch-nemesis.

But it seemed Fate had it out for him, her own personal punching bag, that’s what Harry was. Because the next thing out of the man’s mouth was exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Do you have more? I would very much like to read them, Harry.” Harry bit his lip, his gaze sliding up to meet curious grey ones.

“No.” Those eyes bled into a fierce crimson at the blatant lie as Voldemort’s magic became oppressive and Harry gasped, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. His own magic rushed out of his core to balance the pressure out, filling the room and pushing back against Voldemort’s.

Said man’s eyes widened in sudden wonder as he no doubt could feel it now despite not being a Sensate.

~  _My My, Harry, you are just full of secrets, aren’t you?_ ~ Harry’s magic stuttered at the  _intimate_ tone the Dark Lord had taken, the man’s magic tasting of more than just curiosity.

A whimper escaped Harry’s ironclad control and he felt embarrassment flood him. He curled in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest as he hid his burning face behind his hands.  _This cannot be happening!_

But then Voldemort’s magic retreated and Harry could  _breathe_! He sucked in a sharp breath at the loss and pulled his own magic back before he could embarrass himself further by letting it  _reach out to Voldemort_.

He peeked through his fingers to see the man still staring at him with those  _eyes_! Harry groaned, why was his life so messed up?!

“Harry, are there more journals?” Voldemort asked more pointedly after another minute of awkward(for Harry) silence and Harry reluctantly uncurled to grab his bag. He couldn’t hide them from him now, so he might as well get it over with.

Maybe if he was cooperative he’d get them back eventually - he wouldn’t put it past Voldemort to just keep them in spite or as leverage to get him to do what he wanted.

Though he didn’t exactly know what the Dark Lord wanted with him, Harry knew it was going to be bad for him. With a resigned sigh, he upended his bag onto the desk between them and five or so identical journals joined the first.

“There, that’s all of them.” Voldemort stared at him and Harry flinched, suddenly feeling sheepish. Like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t - which in reality it shouldn’t matter if he lied to him, it wasn’t his business! Still, this was still  _Voldemort,_ despite how sane the man appeared now.

“I don’t have the others on me.” He finally admitted, anything to get him to stop looking at him like that. Voldemort leered at Harry, triumphant as he sifted through the pile on his desk. There was one for every subject he was taking, even the ones Harry himself wasn’t.

“You’re doing Arithmancy on your own?” he asked, impressed.

The boy nodded, bringing his knees back up to his chest as he curled in on himself, more to stop himself from sending a hex at the man than out of fear or weakness. Voldemort understood why, he’d had his own set of journals when he was younger and still exploring magic.

To them it would be like baring your soul to a stranger. But just because he understood it, didn’t mean it would stop him from reading them. Everything he wanted to know about the real Harry Potter was right in these books. He was too curious to pass that up.

“Where are the others?” He asked absently, opening the one on Charms to find it full of theories and ideas for new spells - complete with the formulas already written out in detail.

This boy was nothing like he’d been told and he found himself getting more excited at the prospect seeing just  _how good_ the boy really was.

Did he reach Tom Riddle levels? He already knew that the boy’s magic could rival his own in sheer core size and strength, but what of his mind? From these journals, Voldemort could hazard a guess.

 _‘Hmm, equals indeed.’_ Harry fidgeted before heaving a sigh.

~  _In the Chamber_ ~ He hissed - he didn’t want anyone to eavesdrop and know that  _the_ Harry Potter, the Light’s sicon(supposedly), was regularly entering the Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort’s head shot up in surprise. What? That can’t be...

~  _You mean you’ve found it? Already? It took me at least until my sixth to discover its location_ ~ Voldemort hissed back, his magic leaking out again - this time subconsciously as it sought Harry out.

Harry frowned, bewildered that he didn’t already know - it was common knowledge by now wasn’t it? Surely one of his followers would have….then his eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh, of course Lucius wouldn’t have told you!” Harry exclaimed, making sure to keep his voice at an acceptable tone so it didn’t carry. Voldemort narrowed his eyes, his magic sparking. Voldemort had the feeling he wasn’t going to like this, not at all. He pulled it back when he saw Harry cringe away from him.

“Explain.” He demanded and albeit reluctantly, Harry did. He told his arch-nemesis all about his second year, about the bullshit around people thinking he was Slytherin’s heir because he was a Parselmouth.

About Ginny acting strangely, how she got weaker and shut out her brothers. When it came time to tell him about the final confrontation, Harry hesitated.

“Um… so…” Voldemort narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms as he leaned forward on the desk. Judging by the boy’s reluctance, this was the worst part of the story. He nodded for Harry to continue.

“I won't be angry at you Harry, just tell me.” He reassured, like a parent when their child had done something naughty. Harry wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation he’d been put in. But he couldn’t, not with the intensity of those red eyes piercing his very soul like he wanted to rip it apart.

~  _I stabbed your Horcrux with a Basilisk fang._ ~ He hissed quietly, surreptitiously raising a wandless shield between them as he braced for the inevitable explosion. He wasn’t disappointed. And while Voldemort had managed to stop himself from actually cursing Harry, the magic that filled the room was no better - if not worse.

His shield dropped instantly as Harry was strangled by the angry magic radiating around him. It  _burned_. The center of it radiating from his forehead. He choked and clawed at his throat, trying to breathe through the oppressive stench but couldn’t.

It was only Harry’s magic bursting forth once more at the last second that stopped him from passing out due to a lack of oxygen. His magic, just as angry on his behalf, rose up like an emerald tidal wave and overpowered the Dark Lord’s, forcing it away from Harry.

The man was surprised enough by the unexpected opposition that it snapped him out of the fury-filled haze he’d fallen into.

He blinked and looked down at a gasping Harry, the scar on his forehead bleeding and felt guilt stirr in the pit of his stomach. How much pain had he just caused Potter without even actually  _casting_ anything?

He’d have to be more careful in the future as evidently the boy was more attuned to magic than he’d thought, more attuned to  _him_ than he’d thought.

“I think that concludes your detention, Potter. You can go now.” He said, gathering the journals and offering them back. It was subtle, but an apology nonetheless and he was pleased when the boy’s eyes widened in understanding.

Yes, there was definitely more to this boy than anyone knew. Though he was somewhat surprised he of Horcruxes - he doubted Potter knew he was one. Then again, if he’d been venturing down to the Chamber, it would stand to reason the boy had found the book.

After creating his first Horcrux, young Tom Riddle had left the book and his own journal explaining the process down in Salazar’s study. He’d been so sure that nobody else would be able to get down there, but evidently he was wrong.

Harry’s magic retreated back into his core, once again under his control now that Voldemort’s was behaving. He wiped the trickle of blood from his forehead and sighed, suddenly tired.

“Yes, Sir.” He whispered, holding his books to his chest like they were his most precious possessions - and they were, second only to the Cloak. Harry felt infinitely better once they were back in his bag, bidding the man a quiet goodnight as he stepped out into the empty corridor.

He took a moment to calm his frantically beating heart, coming down from the high the man’s magic always brought him. That had been intense - more than when he’d watched Voldemort be reborn in that graveyard last year. Which brought him to the question of why and how Voldemort had shed(No pun intended, though it really was) that snake-like visage to become…

Harry refused to think the word, sure that his nerves had been through enough without thinking of the man as...as…  _anyway_ , how had he managed that? Was it a spell? A ritual? A  _potion_? He didn’t know, but he found himself wanting to find out.

Whatever it was had been powerful. Harry had read up on the type of ritual Voldemort must have used to gain his version of immortality and  _that_ was some Dark stuff - practically  _Black_ magic. That kind of thing wasn’t so easy to reverse, or tweak.

It also couldn’t have been just Polyjuice potion, he’d never seen Voldemort sip from a flask like ‘Moody’ had. It had to be something else, something more permanent or at least semi permanent. A glamour? Maybe tied to a ring or something?

He didn’t think the man would appreciate being asked though, so Harry was stuck looking for the answer on his own. He just hoped Fate would cut him some slack just this once, and the answer would be all wrapped up in a pretty bow in Salazar’s study. But Harry doubted it would be that easy.

Whatever Voldemort had done, he didn’t think it was in any book. Most likely the man had invented it. Harry looked down at his bag where his journals lay innocently. Maybe he could trade knowledge for knowledge?

The Dark Lord certainly seemed interested enough in what these little books contained. But would Harry really be willing to trade  _all_ his secrets for just  _one_ of Voldemort’s? Granted, it was one hell of a big secret, Harry could admit.

It felt like his journals would pale in comparison in terms of weight. Voldemort would be telling him his biggest weakness, whereas Harry’s journals were more a display of who he was beneath the Golden Boy mask. Was it really the same?

Logically the worst that could happen if it got out that Harry Potter wasn’t what the masses thought he was, was what Dumbledore might do to him. Which scared Harry shitless because he  _knew_ the kinds of things the man was capable of, but he’d still be alive.

If Harry told the Headmaster(for some stupid reason) how to unravel Voldemort, the man  _could_ and most likely  _would_ die.

That thought made a knot of dread twist his insides. Harry frowned, he knew that he was drawn to the man’s magic, but would it really be that bad if the Darkest wizard alive crossed the rainbow bridge? Harry’s heart thumped painfully and he realised he was still standing in the corridor.

He huffed, pushing the thoughts to the wayside for now as he started making his way to the Tower. It would be curfew soon and he didn’t want to be caught sneaking around again, especially by someone like  _Snape_.

Harry was sure the man patrolled up near the tower just so he could catch adventurous Gryffindors and strip them of as many points as he could.

Over the summer, Harry had come to realise that Snape’s behaviour was not only incredibly inappropriate, but childish and spiteful. He was an adult and a professor, he should  _not_ be bullying his students.

But nothing in Harry's life was ever easy of fair, he'd learned that a long time ago.


End file.
